


The Living Years

by txorakeriak



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies), Pirates of the Caribbean: The Curse of the Black Pearl (2003)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, M/M, Tissue Warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-01
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-02-11 07:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2059968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/txorakeriak/pseuds/txorakeriak
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Norrington regrets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Living Years

**Author's Note:**

> This fic focuses on Norrington’s relationship with his father. Inspired by the song “The Living Years” by Mike & The Mechanics, from which I pilfered some lines. (Pirate!)

My father was in the Navy, my grandfather, his father before him. It had become a family tradition to have at least one member of each generation serve under the Crown. As a child, I was made to listen to countless tales of the many distinguished Norringtons in service, of their achievements and successes, their ships, their adventures. Many of them died in glory, defending King and Country. Some survived and after fulfilling careers retired as Commodore 1st class, Rear Admiral or even Admiral.

When I was sent to my first ship at the age of twelve, a shy, lanky lad naively clutching the mandatory letter of service which entitled me to acommodation on the ship and an appropriate education, I was a fool to believe it was my choice. I had always wanted to please my father and learned too late that he could not be pleased. Now I wonder what my decision would have been if I had been able to choose freely.  
  
Every generation blames the one before.  
  
My father and I were never close. We didn’t share anything beyond our affection for my mother and the sea. I never saw him again after that grey, rainy morning when I departed from my parents' house for the last time and travelled to Portsmouth to board a ship bound for the West Indies. Nevertheless, he always seemed to have control over me, no matter the miles between us. We exchanged formal, meaningless correspondence, and I tried my hardest to impress him with my accomplishments, but they were never enough to warrant commendation from him. My letters were nothing but crumpled bits of paper filled with imperfect thought. He always saw right through me. Even when I was a lieutenant of twenty-four, he still had the power to make me feel small and weak.  
  
More than ten years have gone by since then and I continue to be the prisoner of my father’s dreams. The hostage of discipline, order, morals and values who cannot break free.  
  
I have confided in one person only concerning this matter, right before I sent him away and told him to never come back. He didn’t understand. In retrospect, I don't understand it myself. But I wasn’t able to live like that, not while my father still had a grip on me. I knew he wasn't there, but I could see his eyes watching my every step. As I imagined his reaction, pictured his scandalised face, the shame burned right through me. I had surrendered to weakness. I had failed him. I deserved his disapproval, his consternation, his contempt.

Fortune favours the bold.  
  
Indeed, I was foolish enough to think I was bold when I quarrelled with Jack the night I left him. He told me that I should fight for what I believed in. That I shouldn't yield to fortunes, even when I saw them as fate. I acted like a perfect image of my father, brushing off each argument by claiming I was being deliberately misunderstood. We spoke different languages that night, Jack and I. And I lied to both of us when I denied my feelings, even accused Jack of corrupting me against my will.  
  
My affiliation with Jack was like a black mark that I hoped to erase from my record so my father wouldn’t see it.

In the end, all I did was sacrifice the future.

The bitterness lasted.  
  
***  
  
The letter I received upon his passing last June left me desolate and empty. I didn’t mourn his loss. But I regretted everything I didn’t tell him.  
  
That I have never been a brutish, emotionless warrior.  
That obedience to the law doesn't justify everything.  
That I despised him for having taken my life and my prospects out of my hands.  
That I have only been in love once.  
  
I just wish I could have told him in the living years.  
  
Now it is too late. 

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on 1st-May-2005 01:20 am.


End file.
